A Day in the Life
by Marekk Faerune
Summary: The Community School of the Homeless and the Abandoned always had a reputation for turning unruly brats into fine, upstanding citizens. Marekk was their pride and joy this year, turning from a bully and thief into a hard-working leader. How he came to lod


Hello, everyone. This is my first time using this site as a medium for publishing my writing. I hope that this story will set off a word-of-mouth popularity that will aspire me to write more. The following story is based on the game Everquest. It might not seem like it, but there are parallels that can be distinguished by those who know the game. Technically, I could change some wordings and place this on , but I enjoy the feeling of having a background already in place while I am writing. I hope you enjoy the story. Now, on to chapter one.

A Day in the Life

One must think upon the days of old when looking into the future. Only by seeing our mistakes will we ever uncover the ability to correct them. Time and time again, the people of Norrath have imploded upon themselves by commit the same inane mistakes that happened many years ago. Yet, since we are on the brink of destruction once again, we, as the inhabitants of this great realm, implore ourselves to think back on a shining beacon in our history.

---

A sudden knock rattled the door. "Marekk! Get out of bed, ya lazy oaf! Ya have work to do out in the yard!"

Marekk half-awake, half-asleep, yawned and mumbled under his breath, "Damn woman gonna give me migraines." He stretched his arms to their full apex and gently rose from his bed. "Give me a minute, woman! It's barely past seven in the morning and your already chaffing my ass!"

Marekk was a young man about the age of seventeen when he was enrolled into the Community School for the Homeless and Abandoned. The name did not try an ounce to hide the fact that these children and young adults were unwanted by their families. Whenever a family had no use for a particular child, or just had lost all caring for them, they had them parcel posted here. It was a free service that guaranteed the families all responsibilities that they had when the child was in their household were stripped away and take solely upon the CSHA's backs.

The children brought here normally were not high society. The population consisted mainly of lowbrow, dirt-poor family's children whom had become too much of a hassle to care for. It was not that the families did not love them; it was that they could not provide the necessities of life. So, the families would send them off with dreams of easy-goings and laid-back lifestyles. The children would whole-heartedly disagree with those dreams after a day in the CSHA. If the worst plane possibly conceivable had been sucked out of its dimension and placed on Norrath, the School, as it was affectionately known, would have been the physical interpretation of it. From the outside one could plainly tell that the building was out of code in every possible way. White paint peeled away like stickers; the foundation was so tilted the low-end's windows were boarded shut to keep objects, and even people, from accidentally falling through. The place looked as if it had been made at the rise of the Combine.

The inside fared no better. Roach trails were visibly crisscrossing the floor in inner Freeport fashion. Holes the size of watermelons left gaping wounds in the walls. Pots and pans smeared with year-old leftovers were strewn about the kitchen, attracting insects and creative a smell so foul even the buzzards were too squeamish to fly overhead. Yet, this was the only home Marekk had ever known, so none of it seemed to bother him all too much. His entire life had been spent running in the hallways, eating off of eroding plates and other grotesque things. He never knew a life other than the one he had right now.

Marekk slipped on an old leather tunic and a ragged pair of jeans. The tunic and jeans had lost all fastening, so he made due. He slipped an old rope through the belt loops and tied a baroque bow to hold the jeans on his waist. He slipped out a sowing needle from his breast pocket and did a quick sow job, mending the front together.

Marekk walked down the dilapidated hallway, keeping a lookout on the ground for any nails or glass that could tear away at his exposed feet. Quietly, he peeked into the room closest to the front door. A small child, about the age of seven, was sleeping soundly on box springs. " Faerune...psst...get up before the headmaster sees you. He'd send you out to clean the patties, he would." Marekk tried to keep his voice as silent as possible, yet loud enough to get the slumbering kids attention.

Faerune let out a bear yawn and scratched his chest. "That you, Marekk?"

"Aye...now, hurry up! I'm already drawing too much attention as it is."

"Don't get your panties in a twist. I told George before I hit the hay that I would help him out with the patties anyways."

"Why would you wanna do that?"

"Because he said I'd get first pick for the pumpkin harvest! I can't lose to that cheapskate Duckworth again."

"Whatever floats your boat. But you still need to get dressed." Marekk lightly left the door open, as if creating the illusion Faerune was already awake and helping out. Marekk slipped outside the house and too in a whiff of fresh air. It was autumn only a few days now, but he could already smell the crispness of the breeze as the summer heat quickly changed to the winter freeze. He always enjoyed the autumn months. All the festivals, Halloween, Thanksgiving, the sports fair, gave a relief in his busy work schedule. But more importantly, it reminded him of home. He could never explain exactly why it reminded him, just that it did. Pushing the thoughts aside, he carved his way through piles of trash to the tool shed. As he neared the shed, the door swung open, sending an echo of screeches and creeks throughout the lot.

A man appeared from the shadows of the hut holding a clipboard and a pen. "Marekk, lets see here."

"I got the fields this morning, George." Marekk waited as George tried to find his name on the clipboard to double check. After a few moments of "Ah...wait"'s and "I need to double check that"'s, Marekk rolled his eyes and grabbed the board from George's hands. He quickly scanned over the names until he found his. "See. It says 'Marekk- fields- seven-thirty 'til noon.'"

Marekk placed his finger on his name as George carefully looked on. "That's not you, that's spells M-A-R-E-Q-U-E-S-K-L-J...-B..." He was squinting severely at the parchment now. "Oh, crap. Forgot to put on my glasses. My mistake." He patted all over his blue overalls feeling for his glasses. He stopped upon reaching his right leg pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses. The lenses were as thick as molasses. His tiny eyes exploded into elephant size when he placed them on his nose. He skimmed over the paper, looking at it much faster now with his corrected vision.

Marekk stood there silently for a moment, then cleared his throat.

"Oh yes, the tool. Today you'll be clearing out the stalk's from the summer's crop, so this sickle would do the trick." He pulled out of the shed a large, recently sharpened scythe. "I sharpened it this morning. Had to replace the stick though." Where the beauty of the blade ended, the ugliness of the stick began. Knobs poked out every three or so inches, making blistering an enormous threat. Marekk quizzically looked at the shaft, then shrugged off the fear of burning pain in his hands. He'd had worse before. "Well, off you go!" George looked back down at the clipboard. Marekk had just made it to the fields when he heard a yell coming from behind him. "Jaundice! You were right! Cleaning out the chicken coop was for tomorrow!" Marekk chuckled silently as he watched George goofily run to the coop, waving his clipboard in the air like a flare.

He turned around and scanned the field. The stalks were all dehydrated and brown. They stood neatly in rows like some organized army regiment. Marekk counted the rows off and came to the conclusion that he hit took down two rows at a time, then he should be finished by noon, a little earlier if the other children finished sooner and came to help. Grabbing the sickle in both hands, he disappeared into the jungle of corn.

---

The sun stood high above, bearing down all it's heat and UV on the children outside. Marekk had just finished off two rows when he looked up to see the sun beaming on him. He wiped the sweat from his brow and held his arm up to block out the light. He took the scythe and dug it into the ground, using it as a makeshift crutch. He pulled his hand down from the air and fumbled for his canteen. Spinning the top off of his only source of water, he pressed the end against his lips and awaited the refreshing downpour of water the gush through his mouth. Only a trickled came through. It wasn't much of a surprise to Marekk, though. He had drunk way too much earlier in the day. His stomach growled furiously as it found the amount of water unsatisfactory. "Just two more rows, buddy, then I'll give you a meal so big you'll regret you grumbled." He gave a quick cough, then picked up his scythe and faced the rows. He held the sickle at mid level, and far off to his right side. Swing, down, swing, down, swing, down, swing, down. He had almost felt it was some odd islander's beat, like the one's he had heard with his family on the Ocean of Tears. That was one of his few memories he had of them.

His father had just got a bonus from work for the holidays, and he decided that this year's holiday present would be a cruise on the Maiden's Voyage. After he found out the pricing though, that idea immediately changed to a cruise on the Ocean of Tears. Some of Marekk's older siblings were upset, but Marekk did not care. He had never even seen a ship before, much less an ocean. He spent many sleepless nights imagining what one might look like. Crazy images flowed through his head: from iron, slender vessels that could dive underwater like fish to wooden behemoths that could accommodate entire towns. The day finally arrived when they would take the trip, and Marekk was stoked. They arrived at Freeport and hurriedly made their way through the bustling city. He almost forgot about the trip. His oldest brother had to carry him through the shopping centers in order to keep him with the family. He kicked, screamed, and cried, but by the time he had made it to the docks, all he could do was stand agape. He had never imagined what the ocean would look like: the sun reflecting off the deep blue waters, dolphins and other sea creatures zipping, jumping, and doing all thing enjoyable near the surface. Even his wildest imaginations had never though of this. And the ship! Though smaller than what he had hoped for, it still was one of the most astounding creations he had ever laid eyes on. But there was no time for him to stand in awe, as his brother pulled him onto the ship. The captain of the ship talked to Marekk's father, and he produced a jumble of tickets. Nine total, counting his mother and father. The captain looked up at another man standing near a giant circle with prongs sticking out. They gave each other a slight nod, and the man above yelled out "All aboard! This ship will set sail!" The man jumped from his platform and ran to a large pole in the middle of the ship. He shimmied his way up to the top and untied a large knot. He held the untied rope in his hand and slid down the pole. As he sped down, a large sheet unfurled from the top of the pole. He hit the ground and immediately tied the rope to a metal fastening on the ground. Marekk turned around to see three more men appear from below the deck, coming out like worker ants, knowing their purpose. One shimmied back up the pole and stood in a large basket-style platform. Another ran to the front of the ship and peered out at the ocean ahead. The last ran up to Marekk's family. He promptly took our bags and other trinkets and brought them downstairs. The man we first saw at the big wheel was back there once again, this time spinning it in a counterclockwise motion, bringing us away from the docks.

An hour passed by before we had finally lost sight of the docks connecting to Freeport. The crystal clear water rippled with wake as the boat skimmed over the liquid. Marekk watched playfully as his brothers and sisters tossed crude fishing lines over the edge of the boat. The captain was chatting away with Mark's parent, knocking back a few ales while recanting tales of high seas and stormy nights. Marekk slowly walked to the front of the ship and stared blankly at the endless ocean in front of him. He was nearly lulled to sleep by the gentle sway of the tide until he heard an excited scream come from behind. "Look, look! An island!"

---

"Marekk! Marekk! Time for lunch! Put that sickle down and get yer ass inside her for prep!" Marekk peered through his sweat-drenched eyes, holding his hand above his brow. It was the headmaster of the institution, Abraham Huffard, perhaps the most mean-spirited person Marekk had ever known. He even looked dubious, with his piercing scowl and narrow slits of eyes. But he gained much respect from the residence for his ability to take in all these outcasts and cut-ups and turn them into hardworking young men and women. So Marekk obeyed, dropped everything he was carrying, and ran to the kitchen door.

So, what did you think? I hope that the first chapter give you an idea about my style of writing. It does involve flash and bang in the latter stages, but I like to allow the audience to get to know the characters first. Please tell me your comments in the review section. And Lorok, e-mail me if you see any typo's or grammatically errors, or even to give me insight on where I should go next. Auf Wiedersehen.


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